Welcome to Hell, Victor Frankenstein
by thecreativelyinsane
Summary: Victor Frankenstein, if asked, would probably say he thought himself no saint. Yet his arrival in Hell was something he could never have foretold.


A very short piece completed alongside my studies of Frankenstein by Mary Shelley, this piece being an inspired piece of work with Frankenstein remaining the intellectual property of Mary Shelley. This is just some good old fashioned fun.

"Neither man nor angel can discern hypocrisy, the only evil that walks invisible except to God alone." - John Milton, Paradise Lost

Victor Frankenstein opened his eyes, taking in a shuddering breath. The air was warm and comforting, although the darkness didn't bode well in his mind. He didn't remember why, only that it was such an unpleasant thought, memory even, that he wanted to shove it as far away as he could. Pushing himself up he rolled his shoulders, a stiffness in his joints he hadn't felt before. As his eyes adjusted he found that the darkness was in fact a shadow, a long one at that, which he'd been lying in. It was cast by a row of seats which ran as far his he could see to his left. To his right, another row. His brows furrowed in thought. Soon enough, he mustered up the strength to pull himself up to his feet, and when he did so he sorely wished he hadn't.

A screen was the centre of attention in the large hall, bigger than anything he'd ever seen before. Pictures played before him, a montage of images, of moving figures. He struggled to wrap his mind around it, as it were as if the people in it were real. Larger than usual of course, but the colours, the details, the sounds were all of such a real quality he questioned whether it was simply a figment of his imagination. All thoughts were swiped from his mind in an instant when he looked himself in the eye. There he was, on that screen. His eyes held a madness he couldn't even contemplate and his features were pulled into such stressful positions.

He watched as he, as the he on the screen, began adjusting various equipment, checking on foreign devices with a desperation he could barely fathom. The state he was in, a frenzy almost. Victor watched with horror as the moving image changed, and a creature took its place. There was longing in its eyes, and as it expanded to reveal a family, it made sense. He surmised that the creature wished to be part of that, of the happiness.

Once again the image shifted, this time to a crying man and the familiarity came once more. It was him, cradled over a corpse. It began to speed up, and several things passed in an instant. The sound became louder, so much so he felt his eardrums throbbing and as he pushed his hands against them for his own sanity everything on the screen vanished. Only one image remained. It was him, lying in such a still manner his stomach dipped with fear.

"Bravo!" a man exclaimed, his claps echoing throughout the chamber, slow and strong. Victor turned to see him. The man was sat a few rows away, his feet lazily perched on the row of seats before him and his lips pulled up in a smile. No words could escape his mouth as confusion was still the most dominant thought. "Truly amazing."

He stared at the man. "Pardon?"

"Oh, deary me, I believe I've forgotten to introduce myself. However, you, Sir, are far more interesting," he replied, kicking his feet of the seats and standing up. "Victor Frankenstein, you infamous and utterly delightful man."

"You seem to know my name. How about you tell me yours?" he queried, keeping a wary eye on the man.

"Patience is a blessed virtue," the man noted, winking afterwards. "But seriously. How was it?"

"How was what?" Victor asked, a well of annoyance beginning to bubble up. The man fell silent, thinking for a moment or two.

"How was creating a creature which you yourself turned into a monster, and was eventually the death of you?" the man clarified, a strange glint in his eyes.

Victor pondered what he had asked. "I'm afraid I don't follow."

The man chuckled to himself. "No, of course you don't. Dying has that effect on people. Memory lost of their lifetime. It should wear off in the end."

Victor narrowed his eyes, clenching his jaw and then relaxing. The man was clearly insane, and the screen was some sort of contraption he had no doubt invented and he had most likely drugged him with something to make him conjure up those images.

"Where have you taken me?" he inquired, an undercurrent of superiority to his voice.

"Wrong. You see, I've taken you no where. In a sense you took yourself here. Well, everything you saw on the screen took you here. Give it a minute or two, you should remember everything then," he answered, leaning against the edge of a seat. "This is a movie theatre. A very special one. Whenever someone ends up here, they wake up somewhere in this place. One time was exceptionally awkward, actually. For some reason they were lying on top of one of the beams."

Looking up he saw multiple black iron beams, as the man had said. Still thoroughly baffled, and irritated, he shot a glare at the man.

"Hm, different personality too. Oh well, I'd give it . . . ten more seconds at most," the man said, practically to himself.

"Who exactly are you?" Victor pushed, tucking his hand into his trouser pockets. "I don't take men of insanity well."

The man scoffed. "You're one to talk."

"Whoever you are, I can tell you that you have no right to abduct-"

His voice was cut off as immeasurable pain stabbed in his chest, then his limbs, and finally his mind. The agony consumed his entire body and burned throughout his thoughts. Collapsing to the ground he convulsed as sound upon sound crashed into his ears and a violent blur of colours flashed across his eyes. Words, people, places all forced themselves into his thoughts. The sensation were as if every nerve in his head was being shredded simultaneously and one thousand daggers were being pushed into his body.

Finally, as if someone had simply put out a blazing fire, it all subsided. He coughed and spluttered, finding his cheeks wet with hot tears and his limbs throbbing.

"Victor?" a voice called, and he felt utter disgust rise in the pit of his stomach.

"NO!" he yelled, forcing himself up and looking around in hysteria. "No, no, no, no . . ."

His voice trembled away as sobs racked his body, uncontrollable and unbearable. He held himself steady with one chair, his mind hopelessly trying to deny what he knew to be true.

"It feels different, doesn't it? Experiencing one's life in one moment, instead of being spread out over a couple of decades," the man said softly. His eyes were squeezed shut, but the memories still penetrated his thoughts.

"Life?" he choked out. "What I saw . . . what I felt was not a life."

"Then what was it?"

"A curse," he said hoarsely, finally gaining control over his reaction, wiping away every tear with the sleeve of his shirt. His breathing was still unsteady and he was shuddering, even though it wasn't cold. He looked to the stranger, who stared back with sympathy in his deep red eyes. "Who are you?"

A smile played along his lips. "Welcome to Hell, Victor Frankenstein. I'm the Devil, and it's a pleasure to meet you."


End file.
